Ultrasound (2021, Rob Schroeder) (Patreon)

49/100

Kinda knew all along that this was destined to land somewhere less than satisfying, if only because otherwise I'd surely have come across some enticing buzz. (As is, I watched it solely because it was sent to me as a year-end FYC screener; all of those get at least 10 minutes, assuming I haven't seen or bailed on them already.) Yet I couldn't tear myself away. That's due in large part to the sadistic skill with which Schroeder and screenwriter Conor Stechschulte (adapting the latter's apparently non-Russ-Meyer-related comic book Generous Bosom) continually stoke our curiosity about what the mighty fuck's going on, introducing new weird-ass characters and developments that only prompt further questions. (Every time I came up with even a vague, tentative hypothesis, the film suddenly veered in a direction inconsistent with that idea—sometimes wildly unrelated to it.) But also: Shane Carruth makes a film only once every nine years (at best; we're heading into a full decade since Upstream Color), and almost nobody else works in that sort of dauntingly cryptic, creepily mundane idiom. Ultrasound plays like ersatz Carruth, but I was a bit starved for it nonetheless. Strong cast, too: Vincent Kartheiser and Tunde Adebimpe are the two (minor) names, but I immediately recognized Bob Stephenson, who plays the indeterminately sinister Art, as a bit player I've seen around for decades (Fincher uses him a lot; he's in Se7en, The Game, Fight Club, played one of the Zodiac Killers), finally handed a meaty role he can really sink his teeth into. Ultimately, though, despite a late-breaking shift in protagonist, there's not much to this apart from waiting to find out how everything will fit together, and the big reveal proves to be just a more laborious riff on your standard Matrix-ish scenario, culminating in a tediously predictable series of false awakenings. Playing Suicide's "Dream Baby Dream" over the end credits doesn't obviate that.